
How a Christian relationship expert spun her messy divorce into career gold
writes about pop culture, media, and ethics. Before joining Vox in 2016, they were a staff reporter at the Daily Dot. A 2019 fellow of the National Critics Institute, they're considered an authority on fandom, the internet, and the culture wars.
For decades, Christian relationship advice has trended toward regressive ideas about gender: namely, that women should be submissive to their husbands, who in turn are the head of the household. Those ideas arguably penetrated the mainstream with the rise of the tradwife and the idyllic image of the monogamous home life she represents.
Yet the romantic lives of modern Christian advice-givers are often a lot more complex than the traditional marriage roles they espouse. Millions of Christian conservative women who follow these authors seem to recognize that the writers' imperfections are part of a longer journey toward self-improvement — a journey that might also reflect their own.
Nowhere is that contradiction more evident than in mega-successful Christian author and influencer Lysa TerKeurst.
On her way to amassing 3 million followers across social media, writing half a dozen New York Times bestsellers, and launching her own media network, TerKeurst has made messy confessionals a core part of her brand. TerKeurst spent most of the 2010s building her brand out of affirmative, Instagram-ready self-help advice, leaning heavily on the wholesome image of her family and her 25-year marriage. But then, something happened that might have been a dealbreaker for other Christian authors: TerKeurst got a divorce.
Vox Culture
Culture reflects society. Get our best explainers on everything from money to entertainment to what everyone is talking about online. Email (required)
Sign Up
By submitting your email, you agree to our Terms and Privacy Notice . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.
Similar episodes have damaged the careers of Christian celebrities who were branded 'false teachers' and could not overcome perceptions of having sinned. TerKeurst, however, not only acknowledged her own failed relationship — she mined it for further wisdom, placing her among a new wave of Christian self-help authors, who are writing more candidly about their struggles. TerKeurst's audience has responded by making her one of the most successful authors in the genre: She currently has not one, not two, but five books concurrently on the Evangelical Christian Publishers Association's Christian bestsellers list.
TerKeurst's popularity appears to demonstrate a longing for a less rigid, more forgiving view of Christian relationships, even as her fans continue to revere the idea of a traditional marriage.
TerKeurst made her vulnerability a cornerstone of her brand
For decades, the average Christian self-help book has framed marriage as a divinely ordained arrangement that's ultimately about serving God and reifying gender roles. Classic texts like 1963's Fascinating Womanhood and 1984's Passion and Purity that are still popular today forward antiquated views on women (for example that man is 'the initiator,' woman 'the responder' and 'helper'), while the purity culture that dominated the books of the '90s continues to influence today's authors.
From the beginning, TerKeurst was an outlier in advocating mutual partnerships in marriages — a theme well out of step with her peers.
The theme of women's submission to men was and is ubiquitous. To get a flavor, just read a passage from Stormie Omartian's 1996 bestseller The Power of a Praying Wife: 'Lord, help me to be a good wife,' she writes. 'Take my selfishness, impatience, and irritability and turn them into kindness, long-suffering, and the willingness to bear all things.'
It was into this crowded, archaic environment that TerKeurst, in the early 2000s, launched her long and determined writing career, peddling general advice aimed mainly at Christian women. From the beginning, she was an outlier in advocating mutual partnerships in marriages — a theme well out of step with her peers.
In 2002, for example, she published a pair of guides, one for men and one for women, in which she outlined her marriage philosophy. She parroted the usual evangelical tropes about submission and gender difference (one chapter of her women's guide is titled 'Boys will be boys'), but she also pointed out to men that 'Your wife needs you to be her teammate in raising the kids and taking care of the home.'
TerKeurst also blogged incessantly, gradually building a following by focusing on lifestyle and dieting advice. Among her key attributes was vulnerability: In 2008, she wrote about getting an abortion a few months after she began dating her husband, and how the accompanying guilt and shame subsequently impacted her marriage.
Her breakout success didn't come until her 14th release, 2011's Made to Crave: Satisfying Your Deepest Desire With God, Not Food. TerKeurst's spin on diet culture, and the divine stamp she put on the pressure to be thin, proved popular. The book wound up hitting the New York Times bestseller list, reportedly selling 200,000 copies in nine months. From there, TerKeurst became a frequent contributor to NBC's Today Show, helping her reach a wider audience.
When things went south, she wrote her way out
From the start of her writing career, TerKeurst wrote about ongoing issues in her marriage; in 2002's Capture Her Heart, she wrote about starting off the marriage with a host of issues and seeing multiple couples counselors without success. A decade and a half later, in a since-deleted 2017 blog post, TerKeurst revealed that her husband had been having an affair for several years, as well as experienced substance abuse. 'I've always encouraged women to fight for their marriages and to do everything possible to save them when they come under threat,' she wrote. 'So, for the past couple of years I have been in the hardest battle of my life trying to save my marriage.'
The news drew shocked reactions, but many of TerKeurst's fans were sympathetic. 'Art and Lisa TerKeurst are a fairly 'famous' Christian family,' one Christian blogger wrote after TerKeurst's post announcing her divorce. 'Now, through her transparency in the demise of her marriage, I have learned something about my marriage ... At some point, Art TerKeurst made one bad choice that led to a slew of others. And so can I. And so can my spouse. And so can you and yours.'
Despite her intent to get a divorce, the following year the couple renewed their vows instead in a high-profile ceremony. That new recommitment didn't last, however; in 2022, TerKeurst detailed in an Instagram post that despite ongoing efforts to repair her marriage, her husband had continued to cheat, ultimately firming her resolve to choose divorce.
'I've had to learn the hard way there's a big difference between mistakes (which we all make) and chosen patterns of behavior that dishonor God and the biblical covenant of marriage,' she wrote.
TerKeurst wasn't the only high-profile Christian advice author who was caught up in a divorce scandal through this period; Christian blogger Glennon Doyle had a similar experience in 2016, only to swiftly fall for another woman, break with evangelical culture, and start a hit liberal podcast.
TerKeurst, though, chose a less rebellious path: She continued to publish her relationship advice to her audience of Christian women looking for love in a so-called traditional marriage — only now her emphasis shifted to processing the trauma of a failed relationship. Rather than sticking out a toxic situation at all costs, she now leaned into the idea of letting God help her and her audience heal from heartbreak and betrayal while learning to set boundaries.
'We can't enable bad behavior in ourselves and others and call it love,' she wrote in 2022's Good Boundaries and Goodbye. 'We can't tolerate destructive patterns and call it love.' And in 2024's I Want to Trust You, but I Don't: 'Rebuilding trust requires a combination of three things: Time, believable behavior, and a track record of trustworthiness.'
TerKeurst's flavor of Christian self-help is becoming more and more common
This message of empowerment and insistence on the right to exit a floundering relationship is a far cry from the vast majority of Christian advice literature, with its emphasis on submission and staying in the marriage at all costs. But it's increasingly a part of the literary and social media diet of Christian women.
'Christian women authors, as with many mainstream women authors, derive a lot of their authority from their vulnerability,' journalist Katelyn Beaty, author of Celebrities for Jesus: How Personas, Platforms, and Profits Are Hurting the Church, told Vox in an email. 'Self-disclosure in the form of storytelling is a kind of credentialing.'
Overly idealized social media feeds and stories from influencers have even drawn backlash from audiences for presenting a false view of Christianity. Women are now gravitating toward influencers like TerKeurst who offer a less glossy version of their lives.
'Christian women want to feel that their favorite authors and Instagram follows are as flawed and 'broken' as they are,' Beaty said, 'even if they still appear on social media with perfect hair, beautiful families, and fashionable clothing.'
'Christian influencers and self-help experts are still held to a high moral and spiritual standard,' she added, citing influential figures like Carl Lentz, who was fired from Hillsong Church after an affair and allegations of abusing his staff. 'But authors may be held to a lower standard than people in official church and ministry leadership positions…Christians can relate strongly to a story of confessing sin, admitting brokenness, and seeking forgiveness and change.'
Related JD Vance accidentally directed us to a crucial moral question
While TerKeurst's embrace of her own relationship difficulties has only boosted her marketability, she isn't without controversy. Her conservative detractors have claimed that she's too liberal, while others have accused her of forwarding various 'non-Biblical claims,' including 'instructing men,' and for allying with proponents of the controversial prosperity gospel. Other critics have pointed out that her media company, Proverbs 31 Ministry, accepted $690,000 in Paycheck Protection Program loans following the pandemic, despite her lucrative income; her speaker fees alone reportedly range from $20,000 to $30,000.
In 2024, about two years after TerKeurst's divorce announcement, she remarried and restarted newlywed life. Her books, however, are still looking backward: Her next release, due this fall, is titled Surviving an Unwanted Divorce.
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Yahoo
a day ago
- Yahoo
2000s rock band bans Trump supporters from attending all shows: ‘It's not for you'
Ronnie Winter, frontman of the emo rock band The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, has prohibited all Donald Trump supporters from attending any of their shows. The singer, 42, reiterated his stance against the president and his supporters in a recent Instagram Video, saying: 'I thought I was pretty clear about all this stuff in 2020. As you notice on my Instagram, I did not remove any of that stuff from the Stay Woke campaign. 'Look, man, the thing about being woke is you're awake. And once you're awake, you can never go to sleep. And not only has nothing changed, but everything they said was going to happen, the woke people, has happened. You have done nothing but prove them right,' he said. Reintroducing himself as the lead singer of the 2000s band, Winter continued: 'I actually follow what Jesus says. If you're a Christian and you're watching this and you voted for Donald Trump, shame on you. 'You are not allowed to come to my shows. I don't want you there. Don't come to my shows. It's awesome that you love 'Face Down.' It's not for you. It's not your song. It is not your song,' he added of the group's number one hit. 'If you voted for Donald Trump, do not come to my shows or ever, not just these four years,' he added, warning, 'Don't come to my shows because you're going to hear a lot of woke propaganda, and you're going to hear the actual words of Jesus. You're going to see a lot of acceptance from all areas of life and races, and you're just going to see a lot of harmony. That's not what you're about. Don't come. Refunds are available. Forever, don't come. Goodbye.' The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus were formed in 2001 by childhood friends Winter and guitarist Duke Kitchens, who left the group in 2011 to focus on his personal life. The five-piece band are best known for their 2006 song 'Face Down,' from their debut studio album Don't You Fake It. They've gone on to release four more albums: Lonely Road (2009), Am I the Enemy (2011), 4 (2014), and The Awakening (2018). The current lineup includes Winter, his brother Randy Winter on rhythm guitar, bassist Joey Westwood, lead guitarist Josh Burke, and drummer John Espy. The group's firm stance against Trump and his supporters comes shortly after fellow rock band Green Day reportedly called on their crowd to label the president a 'fat bastard' during their June 13 headline slot at Download Festival. 'Ladies and gentlemen, we are slipping into fascism… It's up to us to fight back!' lead singer Billie Joe declared.


Hamilton Spectator
2 days ago
- Hamilton Spectator
Maurice Vellekoop wins Trillium Book Award for graphic memoir
TORONTO - Illustrator Maurice Vellekoop has won Ontario's top literary award for his graphic memoir 'I'm So Glad We Had This Time Together.' Ontario Creates announced Vellekoop as the winner of the $20,000 Trillium Book Award at a gala dinner in Toronto on Wednesday night. The autobiographical project tells the story of Vellekoop's early life, growing up outside Toronto as the gay son of devoutly Christian Dutch immigrants. Jake Byrne took home the $10,000 Trillium Book Award for Poetry at the same ceremony for their collection 'Daddy,' which explores patriarchy and queer desire. The French-language book award went to Aristote Kavungu for 'Céline au Congo.' The French-language children's literature prize was given to 'Le bonnet magique' by Mireille Messier. The Trillium Book Awards are handed out annually by Ontario Creates, an agency of the provincial government. This report by The Canadian Press was first published June 18, 2025.


Vox
3 days ago
- Vox
What we learned the last time we put AI in a Barbie
is a senior technology correspondent at Vox and author of the User Friendly newsletter. He's spent 15 years covering the intersection of technology, culture, and politics at places like The Atlantic, Gizmodo, and Vice. The first big Christmas gift I remember getting was an animatronic bear named Teddy Ruxpin. Thanks to a cassette tape hidden in his belly, he could talk, his eyes and mouth moving in a famously creepy way. Later that winter, when I was sick with a fever, I hallucinated that the toy came alive and attacked me. I never saw Teddy again after that. These days, toys can do a lot more than tell pre-recorded stories. So-called smart toys, many of which are internet-connected, are a $20 billion business, and increasingly, they're artificially intelligent. Mattel and OpenAI announced a partnership last week to 'bring the magic of AI to age-appropriate play experiences with an emphasis on innovation, privacy, and safety.' They're planning to announce their first product later this year. It's unclear what this might entail: maybe it's Barbies that can gossip with you or a self-driving Hot Wheels or something we haven't even dreamed up yet. All of this makes me nervous as a young parent. I already knew that generative AI was invading classrooms and filling the internet with slop, but I wasn't expecting it to take over the toy aisle so soon. After all, we're already struggling to figure out how to manage our kids' relationship with the technology in their lives, from screen time to the uncanny videos made to trick YouTube's algorithm. As it seeps further into our society, a growing number of people are using AI without even realizing it. So you can't blame me for being anxious about how children might encounter the technology in unexpected ways. User Friendly A weekly dispatch to make sure tech is working for you, instead of overwhelming you. From senior technology correspondent Adam Clark Estes. Email (required) Sign Up By submitting your email, you agree to our Terms and Privacy Notice . This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply. AI-powered toys are not as new as you might think. They're not even new for Mattel. A decade ago, the toy giant released Hello Barbie, an internet-connected doll that listened to kids and used AI to respond (think Siri, not ChatGPT). It was essentially the same concept as Teddy Ruxpin except with a lot of digital vulnerabilities. Naturally, security researchers took notice and hacked Hello Barbie, revealing that bad actors could steal personal information or eavesdrop on conversations children were having with the doll. Mattel discontinued the doll in 2017. Hello Barbie later made an appearance in the Barbie movie alongside other poor toy choices like Sugar Daddy Ken and Pregnant Midge. Despite this cautionary tale, companies keep trying to make talking AI toys a thing. One more recent example comes from the mind of Grimes, of all people. Inspired by the son she shares with Elon Musk, the musician teamed up with a company called Curio to create a stuffed rocket ship named Grok. The embodied chatbot is supposed to learn about whomever is playing with it and become a personalized companion. In real life, Grok is frustratingly dumb, according to Katie Arnold-Ratliff, a mom and writer who chronicled her son's experience with the toy in New York magazine last year. 'What captures the hearts and minds of young children is often what they create for themselves with the inanimate artifacts.' 'When it started remembering things about my kid, and speaking back to him, he was amazed,' Arnold-Ratliff told me this week. 'That awe very quickly dissipated once it was like, why are you talking about this completely unrelated thing.' Grok is still somewhere in their house, she said, but it has been turned off for quite some time. It turns out Arnold-Ratliff's son is more interested in inanimate objects that he can make come alive with his imagination. Sure, he'll play Mario on his Nintendo Switch for long stretches of time, but afterward, he'll draw his own worlds on paper. He'll even create digital versions of new levels on Super Mario Maker but get frustrated when the software can't keep up with his imagination. This is a miraculous paradox when it comes to kids and certain tech-powered toys. Although an adult might think that, for instance, AI could prompt kids to think about play in new ways or become an innovative new imaginary friend, kids tend to prefer imagining on their own terms. That's according to Naomi Aguiar, PhD, a researcher at Oregon State University who studies how children form relationships with AI chatbots. 'There's nothing wrong with children's imaginations. They work fine,' Aguiar said. 'What captures the hearts and minds of young children is often what they create for themselves with the inanimate artifacts.' Aguiar did concede that AI can be a powerful educational tool for kids, especially for those who don't have access to resources or who may be on the spectrum. 'If we focus on solutions to specific problems and train the models to do that, it could open up a lot of opportunities,' she told me. Putting AI in a Barbie, however, is not solving a particular problem. None of this means that I'm allergic to the concept of tech-centric toys for kids. Quite the opposite, in fact. Ahead of the Mattel-OpenAI announcement, I'd started researching toys my kid might like that incorporated some technology — enough to make them especially interesting and engaging — but stopped short of triggering dystopian nightmares. Much to my surprise, what I found was something of a mashup between completely inanimate objects and that terrifying Teddy Ruxpin. One of these toys is called a Toniebox, a screen-free audio player with little figurines called Tonies that you put atop the box to unlock content — namely songs, stories, and so forth. Licenses abound, so you can buy a Tonie that corresponds with pretty much any popular kids character, like Disney princesses or Paddington Bear. There are also so-called Creative Tonies that allow you to upload your own audio. For instance, you could ostensibly have a stand-in for a grandparent to enable story time, even if Grandma and Grandpa are not physically there. The whole experience is mediated with an app that the kid never needs to see. There's also the Yoto Player and the Yoto Mini, which are similar to the Toniebox but use cards instead of figurines and have a very low-resolution display that can show a clock or a pixelated character. Because it has that display, kids can also create custom icons to show up when they record their own content onto a card. Yoto has been beta-testing an AI-powered story generator, which is designed for parents to create custom stories for their kids. If those audio players are geared toward story time, a company called Nex makes a video game console for playtime. It's called Nex Playground, and kids use their movements to control it. This happens thanks to a camera equipped with machine-learning capabilities to recognize your movements and expressions. So imagine playing Wii Sports, but instead of throwing the Nintendo controller through your TV screen when you're trying to bowl, you make the bowling motion to play the game. Nex makes most of its games in-house, and all of the computation needed for its gameplay happens on the device itself. That means there's no data being collected or sent to the cloud. Once you download a game, you don't even have to be online to play it. 'We envision toys that can just grow in a way where they become a new way to interact with technology for kids and evolve into something that's much deeper, much more meaningful for families,' David Lee, CEO of Nex, said when I asked him about the future of toys. It will be a few more years before I have to worry about my kid's interactions with a video game console, much less an AI-powered Barbie — and certainly not Teddy Ruxpin. But she loves her Toniebox. She talks to the figurines and lines them up alongside each other, like a little posse. I have no idea what she's imagining them saying back. In a way, that's the point.